


Soup is Good for the Soul

by cryingfanaticse



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Sick Fic, Soup, lame, m&ms in a cig pack, they are such saps
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-12
Updated: 2014-12-12
Packaged: 2018-03-01 04:07:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2759054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cryingfanaticse/pseuds/cryingfanaticse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is not feeling right, so, TA DA, Castiel appears. What follows is an angel's attempt to provide comfort and Dean is there to provide suggestions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Soup is Good for the Soul

**Author's Note:**

> Use all of these nouns in your story:
> 
> an unlabeled can of soup, a cigarette pack filled with M&M’s, an unrequited crush.
> 
> Taken from that writing prompts that don't suck tumblr.  
> i like prompts.

Dean is aware that there is a certain point in time when the chase becomes pointless. When you see the girl get in her boyfriend's care, when you see someone put a possessive arm over their shoulder, and when they express such disinterest in you that you have to look at yourself in the mirror to prove to yourself that you hadn't accidentally turned invisible recently. Dean believes he is coming to realize that this also applies when your object of interest happens to be... shit, Dean isn't altogether sure. An entity? Cas is in a man's body, but damn if that couldn't have been a five year old girls body talking to him with a voice less reminiscent of gravel being rolled over and more like the high pitched yodelling that every movie seemed to envision angel's sounding like.  
Dean thinks back to when Cas had first tried to 'talk' to him and let's a small snicker at the thought of Castiel being the messenger for that one scene of lil' baby Jesus in the Manger. The snicker breaks into a cough, which, calling encore, leads to a series of hacks that has Dean rethinking the night at the bar he was planning to go to tonight. He can feel the cold and its an eery premonition that has him envisioning a pathetic night on the cough as he choked down some Motrin and tried not moan at the ungodly noises coming from the hotel room next to his.  
With a job that included the activity of 'running through the pouring rain in chase of the latest spooky motherfucker', it would seem common sense that Dean would always have a jacket handy or at least a know his limit point that shouted 'WARNING SICKNESS AHEAD'. Sam was still off collecting more info on the incident, still unsure with what they were dealing with. Something furry? Dean's head cried out at the attempt to think any deeper and he buried himself deeper into the duvet he was curled in. It was a headache and Dean was loathe for it to become a migraine.  
It was well known that the Winchester brothers could take a lot of shit, but fuck colds, Dean was creating himself a den to suffer in until it passed.  
Dean was just contemplating if calling Sam up to get him some pain killers was worth the effort, and then there was soft sound of feathers sliding together and  
“Dean.”  
“JESUS.” Dean croaked, his body tensed up part from the surprise of an angel randomly coming to existence in his hotel room and partly from the fact that said angel was currently the one haunting Dean’s dreams with a rough voice and deft hand and _oh god he was here_.  
“Ca- Cas. Don’t do that, man, just like… call or some-“ Dean’s rasp broke off into another series of coughs and Cas was by his side at the instant, learn closer and peering at Dean as if narrowing his eyes would somehow reveal to him everything.  
“Dean. Are you…” The angel seemed to struggle to find the right word.”…Okay?”  
Dean attempted to glare at the angel because it was goddamn obvious that he was not okay, but the wrinkled brow and curious worry that meant in those blue eyes made him huff out a sigh and deign to answer.  
“No, I’m sick Cas….” Then realization struck. “Hey… Cas?”  
“Yes?”  
“Could you go get me some painkillers, meds, you know sick things, to help me get better? Sam’s out and you’re an angel so I figure you could just” Dean wiggled his fingers. “here and back with some things.”  
Castiel looks taken aback, and glances around the room before back to Dean. “Are you sure, Dean?”  
Dean coughs again . “Yeah, Cas, just please. I’ll owe you one.”  
Cas nods succinctly, there is the sound that Dean has decided to call ‘the feather noise’ (not creative, but dammit, Dean’s job wasn’t to be a poet), and Cas was gone.  
Dean settled down for a nap, his heavily drooping eyelids following eagerly.  
There’s a thump of something on the bed and Dean jerks awake to see Cas proudly looking down at him.  
“Soup.” He says, by way of explanation, and feather noises away again.  
Dean leans down to blearily inspect the can, which is suspicious in the way that makes Dean uncomfortable. No labels or anything, it’s just a blank soup can. Dean shakes it and hears liquids slosh inside. He shivers. He read a book once where kids found body parts in the unmarked cans, and Dean knows that it is quite possibly just soup, but on the other he also suspects it could just be the remains of a poor laborer who got caught in the grinder.  
He’s on the bridge of going to throw it away and lying to say that he ate, when Cas feather noises in again.  
“Dean? What are you doing?” Dean clears his throat for totally sick reasons and holds the unmarked can closer to him, away from the trash he was nearing. Cas looks like a windswept tax collector, which, Dean thinks, is a damn weird thing to be turned on about, but it doesn’t stop him for considering the path of fainting so that Cas would have to catch him. Dean is a man, but Cas isn’t and angels don’t judge, so Dean is cool with it (but on the other hand, there is a glaringly large possibility Cas will let Dean fall, so Dean resists).  
“Uh, Cas, funny seeing you here, I was just… making the soup!” He brandishes the unmarked can like a sword and Cas nods solemnly as if this all makes sense now. The angel ruffles through one of his pockets before holding out something that looks suspiciously like a cig pack.  
Dean looks at Cas with disbelief.  
Cas stares back calmly and hands him it.  
“Do you wish to smoke?”  
“What? Fuck no, Cas, you know I don’t smoke. And that stuff is poison for your soul you know.”  
Dean watched in disbelief as the angel swipes the carton from him, flips it open, and pops an M &M into his mouth.  
 _What the fuck._  
“You put M &M’s in a cig packet?” Dean asks in confusion as Cas sees fit to shake a few onto his hand.  
“My observations of humans have proven that chocolate is also a great relaxer and good for the ‘mood’” Cas had tossed the M&M’s down his mouth and uses air quotes. Dean fights the urge to laugh like a maniac and swallows down the surge of pure fuckin’ affection that was fighting for voice in his throat.  
“I… Damn, Cas.  
Castiel cocked his head at him, and Dean shivers. He repeats the mantra, ‘angel, angel, angel, can’t fuck an angel,’.  
“Oh, yes. Right. I was going to inform you that the Boggart you and Sam were chasing has been dealt with.”  
Dean starts at the sound of the sandpaper voice and looks up, realizing that he had closed his eyes.  
“Uh, boggart?”  
Cas opened his mouth to speak but Dean waved his hands and cut him off, “No, no, nevermind. Uh. Thanks, Cas.”  
So they sat, silence overlording.  
Fuck it, Dean thought.  
“Hey, Cas?”  
“Yes, Dean?”  
“Remember how you had observed all these… things that comforted people when they were sick?”  
Cas nods, standing stock still.  
“Well, okay, um, there are physical things you can do to make a person feel uh, comforted too. “  
Cas doesn’t respond and Dean goes in for the kill. He said he gave up the chase, but goddamn, he couldn’t help himself.  
“So could you sit in the bed with me? And hold… my hand? I could turn on some TV, get you learned on human culture that you’re interested in. “  
Castiel peers at Dean like he is picking apart an owl pellet in his 7th grade math class and the itty bitty bones of the mouse are proving hard to find. Dean holds his breath, prepared for a succinct rejection.  
“Okay.” Cas says simply and Dean let’s the grin that comes flowing forward stay on his face.  
“Alright.” 

Dean is content with this. A cool pro of hanging with an angel is that they won’t get sick no matter how much you wheeze, so Dean isn’t ashamed to scoot closer (not that Cas seems to mind).  
Much later, when Sam comes in, he can only smirk when he sees a passed out Dean draped over Cas’s lap. Dean mumbles something and pushes forward with his head like a giant cat, and Castiel only nods as if ‘yes, this is all going to plan’ and places a hand experimentally on the older brother’s head and strokes. The Dean-pseudocat relaxes, and then Sam starts to feel a bit like a creep watching this and goes to his newly assigned sleepy area of the couch.  
He knew as much.


End file.
